


Demon Eyes: becoming the best of butlers

by smilingcrescent



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Canon - Manga, Identity, In the Beginning, M/M, Mission Fic, Short, Slight Violence, Teasing, not quite romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-01
Updated: 2012-08-01
Packaged: 2017-11-11 05:03:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/474808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smilingcrescent/pseuds/smilingcrescent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ciel named his demon Sebastian and was taken to his family home. Sebastian learns that Ciel is not as he seems, while Ciel learns not to give open orders to Sebastian.<br/>Ciel attempts to assert himself into the business word. Sebastian mucks things up.</p><p>Excerpt: <i>Sebastian can feel a smile widening. He has it in check just in time, and settles for a dry twist of the lips. “Of course, lord.” little lord. He nods agreeably. “Letting you learn firsthand what it takes to run a business would be most educational."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Demon Eyes: becoming the best of butlers

* * *

**Demon's Eyes: becoming the best of butlers** by smilingcrescent

Ciel was a small child. Sebastian could have easily snapped his neck simply enough when the child needed gentle tending (on swollen feet), with his (weakened bones from that) ordeal. Even now, his rapidly beating heart seems it might burst at any moment.

But Sebastian does not crush the boy's throat to send blood, (delicious and sweet with childhood and streaks of viscous, bitter tragedy) into the air, no. He simply listens, longingly, perhaps, to that over-zealous heart. How many beatswould it continue on, even after separating from (through) the boy's ribs? The crackand the soft tearing, the wet and lively streams of red 

or would it stop?

No, no. Sebastian is too refined a diner for thishe could not splay his victim open like a common carcass he would invite the child to dine, (would take him)  
the deepest part of his identity, while he looked into two mismatched eyes.

Yes, they would dance and they would converse like the butler of a young earl should. After all, the flavor would improve with age. There are many tragedies wrought on young bones, but Ciel could be _better._

So he took the child "home." He allowed for a semblance of normalcy in the empty manner. After all, Ciel was so smalla little growing boy yet to know the world's ways.

Thinking back on this now, he smiles tightly. When he formed the contract with Ciel, he had not expected the little one to have such a preference for everything. His every need, from help walking due to a partially lame foot, to his weak palate. He'd forgotten how very fragile human children could be...and how physical the waking world.

Sebastian, who grew more accustomed to his given identity day-by-day, takes the time to trim each rose, to feel the tight cotton or leather of gloves against his skin. These small tasks and experiences lock his true nature in. It would help him be the perfect butler this tiny boy (masterpiece in progress) envisioned.

He would dig his black nails in, and strengthen his sense of beauty and aesthetics.

This is when he realizes that the child will speak, has something to say. The demon leans in close to catch the boy's words, his eyes flashing curiosity and annoyance where his face remains deceptively blank.

"What?" He asks simply.

Ciel's cheeks tinge red. Possibly from anger, he muses. "You're doing it all wrong." He hisses. "Do _not_ address me so, and _do_ remember to listen. I need lessons."

Sebastian nods absently as he pours the morning tea. As he serves an exquisitely brewed cup, he murmurs, "Remember, young master, you have only to ask and Iand all of my fine abilitiesare at your disposal."

Ciel does not look as though he's heard.

Instead, he asks, "What of the company reports? How is my father's company?

Sebastian inclines his head. "I shall see to it immediately."

Ciel's single uncovered eye fastens on Sebastian, and he shakes his head curtly. "Do not 'see to it.' You will report to _me_. My father" his voice only quavers a little, and here Sebastian's amusement doubles, "would always check the merchandise personally. He knew all the craftsmen, knew all the details on the suppliers. I shall be similarly informed."

Sebastian can feel a smile widening. He has it in check just in time, and settles for a dry twist of the lips. "Of course, lord." _little lord._ He nods agreeably. "Letting you learn firsthand what it takes to run a business would be most educational." He puts his hand to his vest pocket, and gives a bow. He turns to leave.

Sebastian chuckles at the door, envisioning the child's distraught, or maybe anger at the bankruptcy of his father's company. _He wants to fill in an adult's job? Surely it will lead to ruin, and perhaps bankruptcy._

Once again, Sebastian fills his days with tiny tasks, this time managing the house and gathering the necessary information about the company. He reads business letters, invoices, stalks the hallways where the businessmen work, listening and learning of new business practices. And at last, he has learned enough to give his little master news.

He appears in the study, where the little boy sits. He is dressed in his night clothes still, and holds a small toy in one hand. A pile of papers litters the replica of his father's desk, and a bit of charcoal rubbings briefly catch Sebastian's notice. Then Ciel is nodding his permission to speak, and he lets it slide for now.

"You asked for a report on your father's company." Sebastian says smugly, and he casts his eyes down for a moment.

Ciel waits a second before an irate, "Yes?" slips out from his lips.

Sebastian does nothing to candy his words. "One of your business partner's is embezzling company money. He seems to think that the company was left to him as the most senior member in the main branch. He has some official-looking papers backing him up, but I believe them to be fraudulent." Sebastian announces, enunciating each word to give it an air of grave importance.

"Who is it?" the child looks up from the desk, dwarfed in the over-sized chair. When Sebastian hands the materials to him, he looks over the reports and stolen letters, frowning at the elegant cursive of his elders. He looks over the ledger book, and flips through the older pages.

"Bernard Moncure. You can see that the individual prices in the expense column haven't increased, but the total amount spent doesn't match the bank account balance," Sebastian explains, running a finger down the columns, and handing the young earl the bank stub to compare.

"And you're sure that he's responsible?" Ciel murmurs. Instead of waiting for an answer, he demands, "Let me see the papers that name himsuccessor." Ciel sits up straighter, stretching to sit as tall as he can manage. He lifts his chin, and watches as Sebastian shuffles through the papers to produce the appropriate document. He lifts it, and reads quietly. "This signet ring. Get me something to compare it to," he purses his lips. "I don't think it matches my father's."

"I'm afraid the original ring had been destroyed, but we have the ring from your aunt. I also took the liberty of procuring Mr. Moncure's signet ringthe one used in his document." Sebastian sets the two signet rings on the desk, letting Ciel see the two. He begins to show the child the minute difference, but Ciel speaks first.

"The edge of the feathers is wrongand there are no thorns on the vine. It's clearly a fake." Disgust colors his tone. "Take care of it. I won't have the company split up over this."

Sebastian's eyes flash. "Yes, my lord." He gives a steep bow and exits before Ciel can say another word.

 

Moncure's estate isn't far, and going alone makes the trip that much faster. Sebastian alights on the doorstep effortlessly, and waits to be announced. The shriek of the maid will do, he supposes.

Smiling slightly, he treds in on quiet feet, remembering to travel at a more-or-less human rate.

"Mr. Moncure, so sorry to interrupt your busy schedule, but we have a business matter to resolve." He calls in a loud and firm voice. Very gentlemanly, he should think.

Sebastian bows his head, standing perfectly straight and still. When the other man looks up from his desk, Sebastian too raises his gaze.

The door closes behind him.

* * *

Sebastian returns to the manner before teatime. He has changed the young boy into a suitable outfit of fine black clothing, saying quietly that he is still in mourning. To take the bitter taste of it away, he prepares tea. "Today's blend is Darjeeling, balanced with a slice of Castella sponge cake." Sebastian pours the tea and gingerly sets the cup before the boy. "Would you like a chance to review the company profit once more?"

Ciel does not touch the china. His expression is as grim as a child's face knows how to be. "What did you do? You left without telling me how you would carry out the order." The look he gives Sebastian is offended as much as it is horrified. "He was a business partner of my father's; I can't have you go and, and ha-harass him." He lifts his chin and clenches his hands into fiststo hide their trembling.

Sebastian's eyes are narrow and calm. His voice carries no tremor, his hands are steady. "He is dead in his office." In fact, a smile dances in his gently mocking eyes. "They won't link you to the death, I'm sure."

"What?" Ciel's voice is a whisper, a soft breath of air.

A moment passes between them, marked only by the ticking of an old windup clock.

Slowly, he speaks again. "That _isn't_ how I want to run the Funtom company. Did you even stop to think about the repercussions to it? To my name?" His voice rises, his tone morphing into something similar to an adult's.

Just then, Ciel notices a man ride in on a horse. His pale face loses more color, and Sebastian imagines the man approaching the large door and pulling the bell. Ciel puts his hands to the warm tea, very much the child now.

"Shall I see to that?" Sebastian's voice is rich with amusement.

"Bring him _up_ , Sebastian. Don't kill my messenger," he sulks.

"Directly here, my lord?" Sebastian raises an eyebrow.

Ciel merely motions for Sebastian to go.

In the parlor, Sebastian motions for the man. "The young master will see you in his study. I presume you have urgent news?" Sebastian eyes the messenger's satchel.

"Yes, sir." The messenger looks to the lamps in the hallway and the arrangement of flowers by the door, his eyes wide. What he must thinkhe is among the first guests since the manner has been rebuilt.

Sebastian nods and shows the man to the study. "A messenger for you, Young Master." He gives a bow and moves to stand just to the left of the boy's oversized desk.

"Lord Phantomhivegreetings from the London branch of the Funtom Company. I came straight away from the factory, as we received word of an incident this very morning." He pauses for dramatic effect. Or maybe for lack of air. He takes a breath. "Mr. Moncure was murdered in his own house!" The messenger garbles out the words.

Ciel swallows hard, but does not look away from the man's eyes. "Explain what you can." His voice is still high and childish, but with his effort, the words are lower and more imposing than usual. The intensity of his gaze and the ring on his small hand give him the authority his age does not.

The man needs little encouraging. "The servants say a dark figure enteredI kid you not, a black phantom came in and murdered him. His throat," the man's hands fly to his own neck, made all the longer by his bulging eyes, "the beast ripped his throat out and burned the signet he inherited from your father into his face, sir. Meaning no disrespect, but there's talk of devilry and ghosts." The man shakes his head.

A long moment passes for the young lord to look suitably disturbed. He does not move.

The man breathes in deeply.

As if this is some kind of cue, he begins. "The family has my sincerest regards." Ciel says slowly. "Imy butlerwill help oversee any arrangements for thefuneral." Another moment passes, and he twirls the family ring absently. "But what about the seal? Did you find the signet ring? Because I have one here. My aunt, Angelina Durless, was under the impression that it was the only one left." He holds up his right hand, showing the gold ring on his finger.

The messenger clears his throat. "We found some papers in Mr. Moncure's officeand copies in the factory, with a letter saying the original documents would be here" his eyes flit side to side, as though looking for something. Sebastian wonders if he is looking for the papers, a sign of the black phantom, or signs of the fire.

Instead of asking, Sebastian nods. "Do you mean the official cede of ownership from Master Vincent Phantomhive to his son, Ciel Phantomhive? I was just reviewing them with the young master this morning." He indicates with a gloved hand to the drawer.

"If I may?" he asks courteously.

At Ciel's nod, he opens the drawer and produces a sheaf of papers. "The young master has beenpreoccupied with the recent events. But we have the papers, yes."

He fingers through the ledger, bank notes and sales figures to find a fine piece of vellum. This document names Ciel as the sole owner of the Funtom Company in the event of Vincent and Rachel's deaths.

Ciel's visible eye twitches a bit, but he shows neither sadness nor anger at Sebastian's bold move.

"The fire" the messenger blurts out. He stops and tires again. "They were not burned?" His look of confusion coupled with superstitious fear makes him look a decade older.

"Such papers are usually kept in the bank." Ciel explains loftily, raising his chin ever so slightly. "Do you need to look over them yourself, or will my bringing them in person for the next factory visit be sufficient?" The boy raises an eyebrow and curves his mouth into a smile that could be mistaken for a sneer.

The messenger pales, and then flushes. "I'm sure the investigators would appreciate seeing it, Lord Phantomhive."

"Thank you for the message." And he picks up his tea.

Sebastian shows the man out.

When Sebastian returns, he stands a little taller, a self-satisfied look teasing his lips into a smile. The devil is pleased with his day, with the blood under his nails and the order complete. The messenger was a nice touch, he thinks. The news would be somehowmore realcoming from the lips of another.

"That was completely uncalled for, Sebastian." Ciel says coldly. His little boy's demeanor is abandoned like ashes from a posset. He stands in his fitted clothes, and he pushes the cake away.

Sebastian lowers his eyes appropriately. "My lord." He says slowly.

Not apologetic enough, apparently. "You have displeased me." He shakes his head furiously, and his bangs fly into his eyes. He touches gingerly at his eye, and unaccustomed fingers brush at the leather binding. "I _never said_ "

"My Lord, I have secured your company." Sebastian says with a lazy smile. "In the most airtight, future mindful way possible. Your father's legacy will not fall apart at the seams due to his care."

Ciel's hands pound on the wood. "Enough!" he shouts. His whole frame is wracked with the force of it.

Trying to look admonished, Sebastian touches his heels together in a stiff fashion.

"You disregarded my intent. You disregarded _the reputation_ that you are to be upholding." His voice is thin and low, hissing out through teeth tightly clenched. The little boy sounds more angry than he ought be able.

"It was acceptable with the black cultists only." Ciel warns. "I will not have you dirtying your hands with the blood ofof men I am to work with!" He shakes his head tightly, and pushes the plate of castella to the floor. "I will eat no food prepared with blood-stained nails." He reproves, his voice chill and shaking at the bones of his teeth.

Sebastian bows. "Yes, my lord."

This time, the apology is enough. "I will expect better of you."

As he removes the shattered glass from the floor, Sebastian smiles to himself. He runs his tongue over sharp teeth, and nearly hums with pleasure.

How many boys of ten can raise their voice to a demon, or send him scurrying about like a common servant?

_This master has unseen depths. How divine his soul shall taste in the end_

Sebastian lets his smile wander, and his eyes flash darker, then brighter.

Time will tell how the little lord will develop (enriching himself with folly and pride) for two. For now, Sebastian settles to watch the boy, who has proven to know more of the world's ways than he had thought. He will fetch and carry, knowing that there could be so much more

between them.

to savor.

He closes his eyes

and waits

to dine.

* * *

(fin)

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts? Experimenting with third person, and of course, Sebastain's character. It struck me that a not-quite-sure-how-to-deal-with-Ciel Sebastian can be entertaining. ♥ 
> 
> Spoiler-ish author note about manga....  
> I was re~ally hoping to be given more information about Sebastian's background from the Zombie-arc's records, but, meh. Ciel antagonizing his demon was cute. I ♥ the under the cover scene. 「だれ」 says Ciel. ♥♥
> 
> Anyways, how did you like this slightly longer one-shot?


End file.
